


Pushing Buttons

by darkrosaleen



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Bondage, Fantasizing, Gore, Guro, Knives, M/M, POV Second Person, Rape Fantasy, Somnophilia, Torture, Trick or Treat: Challenge Yourself, Trick or Treat: Trick, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrosaleen/pseuds/darkrosaleen
Summary: Shane wonders if doing the show flipped some switch in his head.





	Pushing Buttons

Your name is Shane Madej. You're thirty-two years old, you're aggressively bicurious, and your attractive male friend is about to pass out drunk on your sofa. 

It would be the third time this month. It would be the millionth time you've watched Ryan sleep. He's a fetal sleeper, curled in like he's trying to shield himself from the dangers of the world.

Each time, it gets harder to leave his sleeping body alone.

"Makes you think," Ryan mumbles, because whiskey makes him philosophical. "If somebody had given Dahmer a hug, maybe he wouldn't have kept all those dudes in his freezer. Maybe there's, like, a switch. You push the bullied abused bedwetting creepy weirdo button enough times, and bam." Ryan thumps his fist against the cushion. "Heads in freezers."

Sometimes, you wonder if doing the show hit some kind of button in you. Before you were up to your eyeballs in violent crime research—before you had such deep, graphic, intimate knowledge of all the terrible things you can do to a human body—you never had thoughts like this.

You tell yourself it's Ryan's fault. Ryan's the one who made a career out of putting himself in peril. And if social media is any indication, you're not the only person who's noticed how good he looks when he's scared.

"How generous," you say, patting Ryan on the thigh. "You should start a home. The Ryan Bergara Foundation for creepy bedwetting weirdo kids."

Ryan snorts. "I want to, you know. Whenever I learn about some awful monster who was abused as a kid, I want to go back in time and save them. Like it'll stop them from doing all that terrible shit." He slumps further down the couch, rucking his shirt up to expose a little of his stomach. "How fucked up is that?"

Ryan's got such a good heart that it infuriates you sometimes. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to help people. That's not fucked up." 

Ryan hums distractedly. His eyes have drifted closed, and you can see his bare stomach rise and fall slowly. If you were a terrible person, you could probably fuck him right now and he wouldn't be able to fight you off.

You're not terrible. Deep inside, you know that. But there's something about seeing a beautiful boy drunk and drowsy and helpless that hits a button buried deep in your brain. 

Good thing your parents hugged you a lot as a child.

Ryan's fingers are loosening around his glass, which still has a splash of Jack. Mindful of your couch, you grab it from his hand and place it on the coffee table. Ryan's two drinks ahead of you, not even accounting for the difference in body size. You feel tipsy and warm, but not drunk.

If you were a terrible person, you could restrain Ryan right now. You've got some rope in your closet, fancy stuff that an ex-girlfriend left. She liked the artsy Japanese stuff, slow and sensual, but that wouldn't work with Ryan. You'd have to do something quick and dirty, to get him restrained before the whiskey wore off. 

You take a shaky breath. Ryan's got the perfect body for bondage, short and muscular and hairless. If you tied his wrists behind his back, it would show off the muscles in his arms and chest whenever he squirmed. You like it when Ryan squirms. In some ways, ghost hunts are worse than True Crime, because you get a front row seat to a terrified Ryan. 

Now the scene isn't in your apartment, but in the cold, dark basement of some haunted asylum. Ryan's tied to a rusty metal chair, arms behind his back. You're pretty good at the Japanese rope stuff, so you don't need to tie his whole torso down, just a sturdy knot fixing his wrists to the back of the chair. Now his whole chest is on display, heaving with each terrified breath. Those asylums are pretty frigid, so his nipples are rock hard.

There's a knife in your hand—how did that get there? You drag the tip from Ryan's collarbone down over his chest, over his belly, down to his waistband. He's in briefs, you decide, and you take a moment to squeeze his muscular thigh. Maybe he starts getting hard despite himself, stiffening up in his briefs. _Didn't know you were into bondage_ , you say, or something dumb like that. 

Ryan shakes his head violently. He's probably babbling, he does that when he's scared. _No no no no_ or _fuck shit fuck_ or _dear God please God Jesus Christ_.

There's so much you can do to a tied up body with a knife. Just threatening with it is fun, holding it against Ryan's nipple and watching him squirm and whine. You've seen him hyperventilate when he's scared, you've felt it next to your sleeping bag. Now you can feel the crazy way his heart flutters under the point of your knife. You've always been curious about bodies—another tick in the latent serial killer column. 

You make the first cut across Ryan's pec, imagining the bright bloom of red across his skin, the soft flesh parting under your knife, the whines and jerks Ryan makes to get away from the blade. He'd look good with a few well-placed cuts, like a handsome Chris in a PG-13 superhero fight. 

But your mind doesn't have to be censored. It's skipping around now, throwing grotesque images at you faster than you can process them. You're not sure what horrible fantasy you want to indulge most.

Maybe you'll cut things off, leaving raw, bloody stumps where body parts should be. Maybe you'll keep cutting Ryan's skin until his blood runs in rivers, until he's drowsy with blood loss. Maybe you'll slice his briefs off and take his big, hard cock in your mouth, jabbing the knife into his perineum and making him squirm between pleasure and pain. Maybe you'll jerk him off fast and make him come against his will, buckling over in uncontrollable pleasure, totally at the mercy of your hands on his body.

Maybe you'll take your knife and slice all the way down, split Ryan open and see how he works on the inside. Maybe you'll stick your hands inside, feel the hot, wet viscera, be inside him in a way you could never be in the real world. Maybe you'll take a bite of his firm flesh, so he can be inside you forever.

Ryan would be long dead at this point, but you allow yourself to imagine killing him, sliding the knife across his throat and watching the red splatter all over his twitching body. It's not fun to imagine him dead, all cold and still. You're kind of relieved.

Real Ryan snorts loudly, breaking you out of your reverie. He's fully asleep now, head lolling against his chest.

Careful not to wake him, you pull Ryan's legs up onto the sofa and throw a blanket over him. He looks peaceful in sleep, breathing softly, his eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks. This is so much better than a dead body.

Cautiously, you lean down and kiss Ryan's forehead. You walk out of the room and into the safety of your own bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Halloween! Don't watch true crime shows, kids, or you'll write smut about hot guys getting their innards ripped out.
> 
> I wanted to write some super dark Unsolved for this exchange, so here we are.


End file.
